Starbucks has happily shocked a lot of us by introducing a new light roast. Like anything they do, it is accompanied by media hype. Frankly, I’m happy to see them benefit from doing the right thing. I’m happy that the coffee will taste better, which I think it will because they are capable. I wanted to get my genuine positive points out first, both because it is appropriate and because it’s the right decision and it will taste better. What it is not is good marketing, which may surprise a lot of people.
Blonde Coffee Moment
This was heightened for me reading a sound byte by Robert Passikoff of Brand Keys, a New York City (marketing?) consulting firm. He said, “”It’s just good marketing. If virtually half the people say that the more European, heavier-tasting coffee is not to their liking, why not (do it)?” I could take Mr Passikoff to task for calling it more European – not, the Starbucks roast originated in San Francisco (and Alfred Peet). But, what makes me bristle more is calling it marketing. It might be paying attention to consumer trends but that is not marketing.
Good marketing is leading. Roasters such as George Howell, Oren’s Daily Roast, Counter Culture and Intelligentsia are light roast’s marketing champs. They forged ahead when angel investment groups would have looked cross-eyed that any small-time coffee guys were bucking the Starbucks “secret sauce”, the black roasted product with umami (savoriness). Starbucks marketing was so good so early and it convinced people that overroasted coffee was a virtue, that the only reason it was light roasted was to save weight loss during roasting. Still, sometimes people unchurched in the nomenclature of the coffee industry would simply say Starbucks was too strong, and this was even true among some specialty coffee folks.
Coffee strength alone was never the real problem with Starbucks, although it might seem like it at first glance. Many years ago, after Starbucks first came to rule the Evil Empire of consumer coffee, they attempted briefly to follow the Specialty Coffee Association’s hefty brewing formulas. Consumers collectively gagged and, again in a response to consumers, Starbucks hastily backed off in the brew basket. They made it less strong, but it might be argued that consumers were less in angst about the strength than that they were really tasting the stuff for the first time under the full-strength taste spotlight. The reality and the the real problem was roast. Starbucks came out a while back with a Pikes Roast, which attempted to bring their roast up a few notches lighter. It goes to show just how dark was Starbucks roasting that some, including me, were unable to appreciate Pikes as anything approaching a light roast.
The coffee business likes to pat itself on the back for marketing. It’s as if it doesn’t really believe in its product and are privately saying, “Can you believe people actually like this stuff”? There are two areas where the market (not to say “marketing”) has gone and in both these directions, Starbucks is a follower. So-called slow brew methods, such as Chemex, Hario and other drip techniques have replaced espresso with coffee aficionados. Truthfully, Starbucks never sold espresso anyway but café lattes. Slow brew means filtered coffee, which is really the specialty coffee world’s “special sauce”. Not only is Starbucks burning off the most prized flavors in their roast. They finish it off using an espresso machine. Espresso was invented as a socialist experiment to shorten the Italian coffee break and to bring forth flavors from some of the world’s least costly coffees, not exactly in lock step with the flavor seduction a Chemex can achieve with high-end beans.
Lately, espresso has become the proletariat drink and single-origin slow-brew drip the beverage choice of the literati. Witness Oliver Strand’s precious New York Times columns. Slow brew drip using some single family farm’s beans is cool. This movement was started by high-end consumers, independent farmers who learned to market their coffees using direct trade and, lastly, those high-end coffee guys previously named who stuck it out after Starbucks had attacked them and taken a good portion of their market share. Now consumers flock to them and places like Grumpys, Blue Bottle, Stumptown, all delivering a much lighter roast, and most highlighting the virtues of a small personal pot of coffee brewed per guest or couple.
Meanwhile, Starbucks has done a great job creating community centers. They are modern suburbia’s equivalent of Target, with the same uniformity. They can rightfully claim to have invented or at least won in this competition. The new roast is different. It will allow consumers to have it their way, which is a lighter way. I wish Starbucks well in joining them with the Blonde roast. It might be considered flexible and a smart response. But, it was not a marketing coup.
©2011 Kevin Sinnott All rights reserved.
I originally reviewed this brewer’s predecessor in The Coffee Companion many years back. When I received its newest revision of the basic design, I was eager to see if my previous knock against it had been addressed. It has and read on to discover a coffee industry favorite.
When traveling to shoot interviews with eight coffee notables last year, I found a Technivorm (pronounced: Teck-knee-form) in almost every location. Many top coffee honchos have a Technivorm as their primary auto-drip machine. As Ian Bersten said to me, it’s an example of good engineering carried through manufacturing without compromise. Good design, good parts. It all seems so easy it’s hard to understand why most big coffee companies haven’t simply reverse engineered the Technivorm into their standard design.
In fairness, the Technivorm is not the only way to make a good auto drip machine. It is also not the only one made. One company, Presto, all but did build a “cheaper” Technivorm and it came and went in a flash. Apparently, the coffee literati overlooked the Presto, possibly as too good to be true. To be fair it did some things with less aplomb, but others with more, but consumers, even so-called leading edge ones, missed it.
So, we’re back looking at the Technivorm 741. What does it do that’s so spectacular? Well, it quickly heats the water to 200 degrees Fahrenheit and sends it through the grounds in less than six minutes, achieving the main technical specs of the Specialty Coffee Association for drip brewing. It does this using a good thermal heating block. Its water tubing is wide and unforgiving. I’ve owned its earlier version since the late 1980s and it’s never “limed up”, even though I use hard water and rarely clean it.
If the Technivorm has a weakness, it is its ability to shower your precious grounds with its perfectly heated water. The earlier version had a single hole the water dripped from, and I noted this in my first review. Technivorm responded by drilling several smaller holes over a still-limited space, but, frankly, it only improves its spread slightly. I still find myself removing the loose-fitting cover and stirring the grounds during brewing in order to ensure all the grounds participation.
Improved multiple sprayhead or not, you still should stir during brewing.
Improved multiple sprayhead or not, you still may benefit from starting the brewer for a full minute, shutting it off for another minute, allowing the grounds to rise and settle. This extra step can make a significant difference in the ability of the Technivorm to fully saturate and extract from your entire grounds bed during brewing.
The first version made 8 4.5 ounce cups — that’s 36 ounces. The current version makes 10 4.5 ounce cups — 45 ounces. Generally, this new amount is about perfect for three or four friends to enjoy a couple of American style coffee cups together. When it’s just two of us, I prefer to use the smaller, earlier version. They brew identical cups. I timed the brewers and the new one is slightly faster, just enough to make 8 cups as fast as the older one made 6 cups. That’s exactly as it should be.
Technivorm added a new feature to the larger model, which indicates an ability to make a 1/2 batch, by partially closing the exit valve at the filter basket’s bottom, slowing the coffee’s release. After playing around with this feature for the past few years, I find it does a credible job allowing you to truly make a 1/2 batch that tastes identical to a full batch. In my tests, you can make a comparable 1/2 batch filling up the the 6-cup water line and using 36 grams ground coffee.
Drip coffee makers are always optimized to make a full batch. With some (Bunn comes to mind) half batches are all but impossible. Most consumers see owning a second machine for smaller batches as a luxury, but if you, like me, often make coffee for just two people, I generally recommend a second machine. Technivorm’s offering a half-batch feature that really works is a significant advantage.
Filling from the bottom up this funnel top makes sure everyone gets an equally full-flavored cup
The Technivorm has a slightly eccentric habit of having a small amount of water remaining after brewing. I’ve never noticed a problem nor any negative side effect, and if it bothers you, simply wait a few minutes for the brewer to cool down and turn if upside down over the sink or a glass and the water will spill out. It’s about a tablespoon’s worth. I used to do just that, but more often I just forget about it.
There’s a demonstration of the Technivorm done by TerroirCoffee.com’s George Howell on my Coffee Brewing Secrets DVD. George wets the filter before brewing, as a preventative of any filter taste getting in the way of the coffee taste and as what another friend called good laboratory practice. I met Gerard-Clement Smit, the Technivorm’s designer, who seemed perplexed that anyone would do this. I’ve tried it both ways and haven’t detected any taste difference, and it’s nothing about the Technivorm. If you accept the need to do it, it should be done with any paper filter coffee brewer. This brings us to paper filters. George Howell further mentions, and I agree with this, that paper filters offer arguably the best way to make coffee with the viscosity of wine, with all the important oils, but none of the particulate. If you want to use a mesh filter with this brewer, I’ve seen them from SwissGold and other manufacturers, but I personally find the balance and mouthfeel just right with the paper filter. Don Schoenholt used a metal filter with his Capresso drip brewer and he prefers the slight amount of sediment, which admittedly, is a small amount. If you like French press-style gobs of sediment, you’re not going to get it using autodrip with any filter I’ve tried. Plus, the press brewing temperature and brewing stillness is going to deliver a different tasting cup with or without sediment.
The absolute middle brewing temperature of 200 degrees, the 6 minute contact time and paper filter work to give you an auto-drip coffee brewer that works well over a wide range of coffees. The brew temps are high enough to deliver acidity with lighter roasts, but just about any coffee I tried came out fine. I might prefer a slightly lower temperature for Peet’s aged Sumatra, but Allegro Coffee’s Sumatra Mandheling (ask for the Mandheling, different from the Organic Fair Trade) was excellent.
I used up to 72 grams of medium-fine grind coffee to make a full batch, the rough equivalent of the 65 grams I used in the older/smaller Technivorm. Recently, after a lot of tests with an assortment of friends drinking the Technivorm coffee, I’ve found I can back off to around 60 grams for a full batch, which is my recommended start point.
Conclusion — If you’re looking for a long-lived simple automatic drip coffee brewer that makes 10 4.5 (just shy of 8 regular/6-ounce cups) of coffee, the Technivorm should be at the top of your list. It retails for nearly $300, and its only potential caveat is you might need to stir the grounds to ensure the best extraction.
The Chemex is both a coffee brewer and an artwork. Few coffee brewers have the ability to show to an audience like this brewer. It’s even earned a place at the Smithsonian. It’s so delightful to look at that it’s easy to overlook that it’s a fine coffee brewer that offers a unique flavor profile.
How It Works
The Chemex uses a thick laboratory-grade paper filter. If you try to use Melitta-style filters in a Chemex, the water will run through too quickly. The paper is part of the method. It asks as a flow regulator. The idea is to fill the Chemex with coarse ground coffee and let it soak as the thick paper slows the water’s movement through the coffee. In this way, it offers and almost-French press-like soaking to the grounds. But, most Chemex aficionados suggest tiny hot water pours, adding just enough to completely cover the grounds.
The thickest filter paper ever... let's you brew stronger, which surprises a lot of people.
I made coffee using very coarse grounds, identical to what I’d use in a French press or percolator. This is counterintuitive to drip making, but the thick paper demands it. If you grind too finely, the combination of paper density and grind will slow your drip rate so much, you’ll end up with very strong, bitter coffee, although there will be no sediment. I heated the water to boiling and then removed it. In about a minute the water was 200 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s a good temperature to pour into the Chemex. The Chemex inventor, Dr. Peter Schlumbohm, believed that most coffee brewers (especially the vacuum) brewed at too high a temperature. The Chemex is designed to brew at standard or below temperatures. While I got good results at up to 200F, I often preferred the coffee brewed at around 190, which is technically 5 degrees below industry standards. Let’s just say this: don’t pour the water in once it’s boiling; you won’t like the results.
The temperature curve reflects the gaps between pours. As you can see, it’s hard to determine the exact contact time between the water and the grounds. One reason for the distinctive flavor of the Chemex might be the wide temperature variance once the water is poured in, without any more hot water joining it until that amount has gone through the grounds. Another reason may be the coarse grounds. The thick paper filter is almost certainly a factor. While critics may claim the Chemex filter holds back important flavor oils, I would not agree without some evidence. The cup profile does not indicate anything less than a stellar cup of coffee. In fact, I think I can make stronger coffee with the Chemex with no bitterness at least partly due to its filter. If a wine-like viscosity is what you want in your cup, the Chemex is your brewer.
The Chemex works by trial and error. It is difficult to calculate the contact time, as you really have a number of contact times, due to the practice of pouring small amounts of hot water and allowing it to cycle through the filter bed before pouring in the next one. The best starting point it simply to use a coarse grind and not-too-hot water.
Coarse ground, like Kosher salt, because the filter controls contact time, not the grind.
I use forty grams of ground coffee in the so-called six cup Chemex. I own the larger one too, the eight cup. I use seventy-two grams of ground coffee and I grind is slightly coarser. I use less and grind coarser because the ground coffee bed is deeper, meaning the contact time is automatically longer.
An interesting point how hot the succeeding pours are. Most manual drip users boil the water, then let it come off the boil and then pour it in without reheating it. As Oren Bloostein told me, he continuously keeps the water at near boiling. I’ve done it both ways, and am unconvinced that one way is inherently right versus the other. I suggest you try both and decide.
Cleanup is simpler with the Chemex than any other brewer I’ve used. You simply toss the paper away. If you compost, you toss the remove the grounds and toss the filter. The glass maker rinses easily — nothing to scrub.
The Chemex is the most attractive manual drip maker ever made. It is a manual drip maker, which means it’s more work to make the coffee. Even though I do, I can understand others claiming they don’t want to make manual coffee while getting ready in the morning. Its cleanup is so simple, and once you get your measurements and grind down, it’s really quite an easy brewer. The only thing left is how to keep the coffee warm. I suggest the cost is low enough that you buy two sizes and make the right amount for a half hour, and spring for the glass top that keeps the heat in.
I strongly recommend the Chemex brewer.
After spending years in search of the perfect cup of coffee, I must admit I’ve had quite a few that have come close enough to deserving to be, as the saying goes, “almost too good to be legal”. And upon that flimsy premise I became curious to try the coffee given society’s true illegals… the men and women who populate our flourishing and expanding prison system. How good or bad is it? It would seem that it should, along with hard beds, out-of-date newspapers and small-screen television, be a part of their punishment for disobeying the law in this, the greatest country on earth.
I’ve certainly had coffee that seems more of a punishment than a joy, here on the outside that is. The more I thought about this the more obsessed I became, until I began introducing myself to a few lawyers and judges at parties (I normally would be embarrassed by being seen with these types) with the hidden motive of obtaining passage into the coffee klatches within the prison system.
Finally, Sid Heller, my attorney of many years, who has come dangerously close to being imprisoned himself for so savagely representing me in court (Sid is a lot like a mad dog when he tears into yours opponent) called me late one night.
Sid: “Kevin, I’ve done it.”
Kev: “You’ve been disbarred?”
Sid: “I could be if this ever gets out. I’ve got you a visitors pass to three institutions, a city lockup, a county jail and a State penitentiary. What’s my Christmas present?”
That’s Sid. Effective and right to the point.
So, here I am writing this report on the way back from my tour of coffee al frisko.
Photo by Sid Heller, Esq.
My first sip of city jail’s coffee said it all. In fact, this coffee reminded me of the song title, “Yesterday.” The worst thing about it to me is that the guards appear to be drinking it too. Now, I can almost understand some fellow who finds himself here awaiting trial having a few cups just to get through the boring courtroom tactics. After all, his lawyer has to stall the case along until everyone connected with it either dies, or can’t remember. But the guards??? Frankly, I expected better. By the way, I don’t suppose you can guess whose coffee they serve here? I’ll give you a clue. It’s mountain-grown. If I were ever here, I mean really here, I know I would use my one phone call to roaster John Martinez. “Hello, John. Kevin Sinnott here. Hey, do you suppose you could overnight some Jamaican Blue Mountain and maybe a French press? I’ll have to send you a check, John. Trust me.”
Oh yes, and there are insects here. Large ones.
I always promised my larger-than-life uncle, one Father John Dufficy, that I would never stoop so low as to cite the sensationalist drivel that is so prevalent in the newspapers. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but think of Lindsay Lohan while I sat in cellblock 19B at the McHenry County Court lockup.
It was obvious that the experience was destined to be unpleasant. The foul smelling man in the next cell noticed my customary sport coat (I did wear a striped shirt) and insisted on calling me, “English” for the duration of my stay. The rest of his conversation held similar interest. I’ve never met a person who made more references to the sex act and seemed less likely to experience it, given his lack of charm and any form of social skill.
The guard posted for my ward (is it a ward?) asked me if he could get me anything such as cigarettes. I responded that I would like a cup of coffee, fresh if possible.
He gave me an odd look after that last comment, about the freshness. I was quietly glad that he did. It meant that he hadn’t guessed my true identity. My research, after all, was for naught, if the prison administration started slipping me special treatment in the form of better coffee. All I need is some savvy guard sending out to Dunkin’ Donuts in an attempt to fool me.
When my “host” returned he handed me the usual institutional styrofoam cup. Wedged alongside it was a packet of Sweet N’ Low, almost a guarantee of poor ingredients. How is it McDonalds is able to afford Equal and a big customer like the Prison system can’t?
I know you’re getting curious about the cup quality. Surprise. The coffee was… quite good. Aromatic. With a nice acid and medium body. The finish was the only place where the telltale signs of a less than stellar product was being used here.
Oh, I could definitely quibble about the formula. I have no doubt that they were employing the usual “one teaspoon per cup of coffee” for every cup. If I were to stay here for even one day, I would offer my recommendations that they “up” the grounds-to-water ratio.
Perhaps it was the overwhelming stench of the cell block, but even the Styrofoam cup seemed inoffensive. When I was released I noticed the coffee making station was equipped with last month’s top rated Bunn coffee maker and Yuban coffee. Someone around here must have taste buds.
Maybe they are subscribers after all.
State penitentiaries are both the best and worst of the penal system. There are the ultra-violet “Natural Born Killer” — types who probably can’t be trusted with any glass equipment for fear they will convert a broken carafe into a dangerous weapon. Then there are the so-called “country club” prisons filled with reckless stock brokers and tax evading Mafiosi, where I would half-expect commercial quality cappuccino makers, maybe even a Starbucks or Gloria Jeans franchise operating within the prison walls to serve these “high-flyers.”
The state penitentiary I visited boasts no such luxury. Even though I was allowed into only the minimum security areas, much of the coffee appeared to be instant. The guards here definitely keep to themselves. They do not share coffee or any other informalities with the prisoners. My rather limited contact with the other prisoners didn’t allow me to become “wise” to any sort of underground “specialty coffee” system such as exist for cigarettes, drugs and sex magazines. I did notice one Gavalia package on the window sill of an inmate. But for all I know, it was a birthday present from his aunt. I was unable to find its owner, who was probably in the gymnasium during my stay.
In case anyone’s interested, I discovered that prison terms — I guess I should say, prison phrases such as calling the guards “screws”, “guns”, “rods” or “heaters” and the other inmates, “buddy” or “pal” are apparently no longer in style. The first time I attempted to use any of these in passing conversation, a hearty round of laughter resulted. I apologized and covered my ignorance by claiming I had been transferred from an older prison community. The prisoners took it in stride, and told me I’d just seen too many Humphrey Bogart films.
Taster’s Choice: Not Much
There are basically three choices of state pen brews. First, there is the institutional coffee served at breakfast and dinner. Frankly, it tasted identical to what I’d been served on Amtrak. It had Nestles written all over it. The harsh assault on the tongue, the weak body and the sour aftertaste. I’m sure the urns they were using (verified by “Mel”, who works kitchen duty or mess, as he calls it). The second choice is to drink coffee from a vending machine. Here the coffee is probably technically worse than the stuff in the hall, but for some reason, it actually offered more in overall perception. I was unable to bring in any laboratory equipment to verify brew strength, but I would say their machine was extracting better than average. The coffee actually had some of the finer notes of a decent high-grown arabica, rather than the robusta in the “mess.”
The third method is to have coffee with “Charlie.” Charlie is an inmate who actually has his own coffee maker. Well, sort of. Charlie uses an electric plug-in heating element known as a “stinger”, which he dips into a water filled styrofoam cup. When the water boils, Charlier spoons some coffee grounds in and stirs. Then he filters the coffee into a second cup. Charlier also uses decent coffee, by prison standards. Charlie uses Yuban, too. (What’s this thing about Yuban and prisons?) And he brews it strong, at least fairly strong. Charlie is allowed to get bottled water, because the guards didn’t want him to carry the glass carafe back and forth to the water fountain. Charlie says it makes better coffee, which I basically agree with.
I think Charlie used to work in a supermarket. I’m not sure whether he said he had a job in a supermarket or he pulled a job in one.
Charlie makes a pretty fair cup, though, under the circumstances. He also told me he is a member of Greenpeace.
First, I would advise no one to go to prison to taste the coffee or otherwise. I certainly don’t miss being there, even if it was just for “the experiment.” If I ever get in trouble I will pay Sid whatever he asks to try to stay out.
But…the coffee in prison, overall, is no worse, and even in some important ways, better generally, than that in many outside venues.
The coffee may be cheap in the mess, but, due to time constrictions on meal service, the coffee never “stayed up past its bedtime” on scalding hot plates or suffered a slow death in an airpot.
The county jail coffee was actually near exceptional for food service, circa 2011. It would put most office coffee service to shame. Many air travelers suffer far more for being coffee drinkers than men and women who have broken the law and are supposed to be punished for it.
Considering that none of these institutions buy premium coffee, or even grind fresh, the passing marks show that emphasis on cleanliness, measurements and fresh serving after brewing really do account for a lot.
There oughta be a law.
As someone who misspent some of his early life viewing movies, I can’t help but recall some of coffee’s more exhibitionist moments before the camera.
Here are but a few moments memorable to me:
The 1952 film noir classic, The Turning Point with Edmond O’Brien as a well-intentioned but naive politician trying to clean the rats out of government featured a scene making coffee using a vacuum maker. The film’s director wisely starts the scene during the vacuum drawing the finished brew back down into the lower carafe. I can’t watch the scene without shoveling some fresh Guatemala Antigua into my own vacuum Silex.
For the best “coffee as sacrament” you can’t do better than Air Mail, my favorite John Ford film. Cheerless airline executive/pilot (from the days when they did both) Ralph Bellamy must pour twenty cups or so of coffee to maintain his seemingly eternal vigil running his airmail operation during an equally endless fog bound night. As atmospheric as these exciting early years of airborne heroics were, I think in balance I prefer the boredom of modern airlines. The safety, but not the coffee, has improved, however.
Another noir classic, The Stranger on the Third Floor, sets much of its dark story line around the confines of a diner called Nick’s. Nick, a Greek restaurateur steals a scene in which he explains why his coffee is so good to two dewy-eyed starlets who ask his secret. “The secret”, Nick says, “is I put a raisin in the every cup”. I’m thinking of remaking the film with this same scene in it. Only in my remake it turns out that I am Nick’s killer, after I discover he’s been flavoring my coffee without my knowledge.
Any film with alcoholics in it is guaranteed to feature early morning “lots of black coffee” scenes and Lost Weekend is no exception. Ray Milland’s portrait of a boozer is liberally peppered with the coffee-making activities of crusading Jane Wyman, whose employment of a percolator almost excuses Milland’s habit, at least in my book.
Preston Sturges, whose work seems to age even better than the best Sumatra green beans, obviously knew how to weave the coffee into a good yarn. His classic, Christmas in July, is about an advertising wannabe, Dick Powell, who tries to seduce gal pal Ellen Drew with his phrase, “If you can’t sleep at night, it’s not the coffee. It’s the bunk.” In fact, he enters the slogan in an advertising contest sponsored by a major coffee company. At one point his mother notices that he has accidentally dropped a penny in his coffee cup. “That’s lucky”, she says with her first generation brogue. Sorry, Mom. Not in my house, where you couldn’t see a penny in the bottom of the cup. It’s never good luck to look into a coffee cup and see anything but coffee. If you can it means the coffee is weak.
Patricia Fitzgibbon, Coffee Companion staffer, forced me to endure one of her favorites films, the ultra-campy Pillow Talk. Other than watching Rock Hudson method-act love interest in Doris Day, this film does have our top-rated Chemex coffee maker as its scene stealer. Once I spotted the Chemex, I re-wound and ran the scene several times.
A somewhat late entry in classic coffee-making in film comes from an early 60’s cold war comedy, One, Two, Three, starring James Cagney as a Coca-Cola executive trying to sell Coke in the Soviet Union. His secretary is shown in a photo accompanying this article making coffee and, yes, that is a vacuum maker. No wonder the Soviets resisted his efforts to introduce Coke when they apparently still had superior coffee-making equipment.
The 70’s and 80’s proved to be dark ages for coffee makers, as for coffee in general. It speaks volumes about our culture’s subconscious shame in using electric percolators and switching to high-content robusta-grade coffees that there is a drought of good coffee-making scenes in films during this period.
Perhaps the 90’s will prove to be a more coffee-focused time period. Already we have Café Romeo (a film so dependent on Joseph Campanella that even after he dies he is brought back via flashback for the film’s duration). Although Groundhog Day has no noteworthy coffee scenes in it, I was impressed by rumors that Bill Murray insisted on specialty coffee from a local roaster during shooting. A recent Christopher Walken film, in the Company of Strangers, has him sipping espresso in Venice while playing intense psychotic games with two impressionable British.
I haven’t yet seen the ultimate coffee cinema scene. When I do, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, if you do, let me know.